


From Your Secret Admirer

by pallorsomnium



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Flowers, Love Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallorsomnium/pseuds/pallorsomnium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Another letter had come, along with a new bouquet of Charles' favourite white peonies. Charles slipped the short letter back into its envelope and flipped the envelope to its front, where his name was written out in strong, narrow cursive. He traced over the writing with his fingers, as if that would somehow tell him who his 'secret admirer' was. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Your Secret Admirer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wallhaditcoming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallhaditcoming/gifts).



> For [wallhaditcoming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallhaditcoming), who requested "revelation of the author of anonymous love letters" when I asked for ficlet prompts.

_Charles,_

_From the moment I saw you, I wondered how someone like you, so bright and so good, could exist. There is such goodness in you that no darkness can ever touch. You are the light of my life, even though I may never get the chance to be a part of your life._

_You are, after all, far too good for a broken man like me. But how I dream of you. How I wish I could call you mine, that I could wrap my arms around you and hold you close._

_Unfortunately, I can only watch you from afar, stand in the periphery of your light. Your happiness is most important to me, and I hope you've had a good week since I wrote you last. Your smiles touch the deepest part of my soul and make the world a brighter, better place to be._

_From,_  
 _Your Secret Admirer_

* * *

 

Another letter had come, along with a new bouquet of Charles' favourite white peonies. Charles slipped the short letter back into its envelope and flipped the envelope to its front, where his name was written out in strong, narrow cursive. He traced over the writing with his fingers, as if that would somehow tell him who his 'secret admirer' was.

It'd been close to six months since the first love letter and bouquet of flowers had appeared on his desk. He'd been utterly surprised and flustered at first, disbelieving that anyone would take the time to write such a letter for him. He'd only been back in New York and teaching at the university for two months back then. He hadn't known what to do with the letter, since his secret admirer hadn't exactly expected him to respond. So he'd slipped the letter into a locked desk drawer at home and brought to his office a crystal vase to put the peonies on display by his office window.

It wasn't until the second letter had arrived that he realised that his admirer had been, well, _serious_ , that the letters and flowers might actually keep coming. And they did keep coming, once a week like clockwork--not always at the same time of day, but every Friday before he left campus for the weekend at the very least. Now, in his desk drawer at home, locked away from Raven's snooping, sat twenty-three letters in their original envelopes.

Charles had tried everything he could think of to figure out who his admirer was. He could sense from the contents of the letters that his admirer was a man and likely one of his university colleagues. His admirer liked order and precision, reflected in the way he wrote his letter in straight lines and clear handwriting, not a dot or line out of place, no ink smears or smudges or errors in sight. He was intelligent and had confidence in himself, though he certainly didn't feel confident that Charles would want to know him, to possibly learn to love him, in return. Such pain Charles sensed in some of the man's words though, and he wished he could meet this admirer and learn more about him.

His admirer was a mutant; he'd almost admitted as much in one of his letters. Charles suspected the man had some sort of mutation that allowed him to either open lock doors or appear in locked rooms. Charles hadn't met a new mutant in a long while and he longed to discuss current mutant topics with his mystery man. He didn't understand, however, how anyone could have not noticed a man carrying a large bouquet of peonies across campus every Friday morning, but no one he'd asked recalled a thing, and he wasn't about to go so far and enter their minds to try and find out for himself.

He sighed and gave the letter one last, long look before slipping it into his bag. He threw out last week's bunch of peonies, now wilting, and replaced them with the new bouquet. He smiled at the way the white flowers caught the sunlight from the windows, practically glowing, before returning to his desk to prepare for his morning lecture.

 

* * *

 

A student had scheduled an 8am appointment one Friday, and Charles was forced to arrive on campus early that day. He'd just stepped out of the parking garage when a sight in his line of vision made him freeze in his footsteps.

Walking down the central walk of campus toward the biological sciences building was a man in a leather jacket, tall and lithe, a large bouquet of white peonies craddled in the crook of one arm. Charles could only see him from behind, barely distinguisable because of the distance, but he looked familiar; Charles had probably met him before. But that hardly mattered right now.

Because it was him, his secret admirer, the man he'd longed to say things in return to for months now.

Charles broke into a run, racing to catch up with the man. And he'd almost reached him when the man must have sensed his approach, because the man stopped in his tracks and spun around, free hand raised as if to ward off an attack. Then he froze, seeing Charles, and his face--and the emotions he was broadcasting--changed from angry intent to shock and fear.

"You--" Charles couldn't speak at first, still trying to catch his breath from the sprint as well as from the surprise of finally meeting his admirer face-to-face. He recognized the man from some university event or the other, though they had never been formally introduced, never been close enough to each other to interact. Recalling from memory, the man had been, and was still, devastatingly attractive, dark and brooding, though he now looked heartachingly vulnerable, staring at Charles like a deer caught in headlights. And oh, how lovely the edges of his mind felt, sleek and strong and cool to the touch, like stainless steel.

Charles took one more deep breath and tried speaking again, "You are the one who wrote the letters."

The man nodded wordlessly, and Charles couldn't help but reach out and take hold of his hand. The man stood statue still, as if a single movement would make Charles disappear from in front of him, though he was radiating just how flustered he was to feel Charles' hand in his.

Charles smiled up at him, unable to contain his happiness at finding him. And truthfully, he quite liked the feeling of the man's hand in his.

"Would you tell me your name?" he asked.

"Erik. Erik Lehnsherr," he answered, barely audible, and Charles's smile widened. He found he liked the sound of Erik's voice as much as the feel of his mind.

"It's lovely to finally get to meet you, Erik," Charles said. "How about we go up to my office together? You can give me your letter and the flowers, and then we can talk. I have a meeting with a student soon, but afterwards, how about we talk over coffee and tea? I would very much like to get to know you."

"But I--" Erik started saying, and Charles could sense the protests forming, the same protests Erik had written in his letters: that he wasn't good enough for Charles, that he was too broken.

"Please, Erik," he said softly, wrapping both hands around Erik's.

Finally, Erik nodded, and Charles beamed. He pulled Erik along to his building, not wanting to let go of his hand. This, he felt, was a start to something, to something wonderful that he had never expected when he returned to the States.


End file.
